Traditional Gender Roles
by TobyKikami
Summary: What does it take to be an exception in the clergy of a drow god? Four stories: 'The Spider Queen's Second Chance,' 'The Masked Lord's Embrace,' 'The Waiting Spider's Sword Arm,' and 'The Dark Maiden's Message.'
1. The Spider Queen's Second Chance

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay, to clear some things up before we start - as of this writing, the stories are not continuations of each other, as in a chaptered fanfic, though I might follow up on some of the characters in different fics later on. They can each be read independently; what they have in common is the idea I found interesting.

Further notes on canon are at the end of each fic.

Hope you enjoy. If you don't, there's still three (so far) to go. You might feel differently about those, if this one doesn't turn you off completely.

DISCLAIMER: Forgotten Realms isn't my world and drow aren't my fantasy race. I'm just borrowing them to play with for a while.

SPOILER WARNINGS: There shouldn't be any spoilers in the fic proper, but there's an undetailed one for R. A. Salvatore's "Paths of Darkness" (including _Servant of the Shard_) in the end notes.

GENERAL WARNINGS: Warnings (and possibly ratings) vary per fic. If the rating is too low, drop me a line. "The Spider Queen's Second Chance" contains violence and obliquely described postmortem mutilation.

* * *

_Traditional Gender Roles _

_**The Spider Queen's Second Chance**_

_The Year of the Tankard (1370 DR)_

Again Ranaghar Khalazza did not remember sleep or Reverie but it must have happened, else the spider crawling on the stone above him had teleported away when he blinked. Once he determined there was no imminent assassination requiring his attention, he sat up. Appropriate words came easily, spilling off his tongue while he folded his hands together and reached into the dark. His memory had always been one of his strong points, such as they were, along with ritual daggerwork. He could recite each prayer they'd seen fit to teach, all the praises and supplications and thanksgivings, even those he would never speak on grounds of inapplicability.

By the time he opened his eyes his folded legs were beginning to numb and the stone beneath them had warmed. His hands unfolded, empty. That part of his mind that was used to being filled with granted magic, meanwhile, was near-empty. Near-empty; it had been a calm tenday before, and a calm journey since, and several unused spells continued to linger in his memory - darkfire, lie detection as was his habit, several healing magics. There was also her laughter, of course. She had been laughing for some time now. It was the type of mocking chuckle that often served to point out male stupidity generally obvious to all but the male in question.

When he was twenty he'd been taught that Lolth's laughter was heard by those who had lost her favor and by the mad. He had refrained from asking the obvious question of how the mad could know it was truly the Spider Queen laughing at them, not a conjuration of their deluded minds. The reactions of priestesses to stupid questions from male students varied from a similar amusement to drawn blood, sometimes combining both, and Ranaghar had never been overeager to try his luck.

* * *

There was plenty of time for him to fret as the caravan made its way along the familiar route. He'd set aside some part of his mind for cursory observations and simple tasks such as - currently - steering his riding lizard, while his main body of thoughts swirled about and expanded into the space they were given.

It was bad enough that he'd lost her favor. There was a second chance, he knew, there was always a second chance, but difficult to take advantage of it when he hadn't even a reference point to correct his error. He might be too ambitious, for a male - but then he might well be instead not ambitious enough for one of her priests. There was no way of telling, and adjusting his behavior in either direction would have a chance of raising the Spider Queen's ire still further. It was simple enough for the likes of his sister Laele, or Matron Belarbreena - they were female, high priestesses, this combination was unquestionable. All their lives drow walked on webbing, with gaps between the strands. Far easier for a female to see where the strands lay. But that was natural, wasn't it?

There were others like him in Ched Nasad, one in two dozen perhaps, and it was not uncommon for them to fall. Rai'gy Bondalek, for example, who Ranaghar still remembered though he wasn't entirely certain he should. That one who was mage and priest both - _high_ priest even - but he ended fleeing, with the piwafwi half-torn from one shoulder, hair and robes smoking from thrown darkfire. They chased him to a lower level before he vanished, and by then House Bondalek had vanished as well. No. Not vanished, but _never was_.

His ability to mentally separate had saved his life twice. Now it informed him of the approaching patrol. He debated for a moment whether to let whoever had taken point handle them. But best, he decided finally, to give some semblance that nothing had changed; who knew, he might actually maintain that.

He spurred his lizard past the front guard till he drew level with the point - a short and slight female who he remembered was named Talabrina. She turned her head and tipped it slightly, her face blank, and he rode on.

The leader of the patrol wore a robe stitched with what Ranaghar recognized as Draconic - phrases he'd heard rattled off among young wizards as a simple way to display their erudition. The other yanked his own lizard to a halt; he did not bother to hide his stare at Ranaghar's own garments - adorned as they were with rampant spiders and accompanying webs, though he had stopped short of including Abyssal axioms. He stared also at the platinum disk, slightly too large to enfold in a hand, with the embossed spider on the visible side. There was always discomfiture at first, and often if not always that discomfiture lingered. Around such a contradiction, response was measured with extra care. Finally, his stare lifted to Ranaghar's face, his own face bearing an expression of mild incredulity. "Your name and business?"

"That will be unnecessary."

Ranaghar swallowed the explanation already lined up on his tongue. The speaker was a priestess, astride another lizard behind the patrol leader. No whip hissed from her hand, and for a moment this hampered his recognition. For a moment.

"Fine luck to have caught you," said Laele, though both knew luck had as much to do with it as rothé had to do with myrlochar. To the patrol leader she said, "This is one of House Khalazza's." She did not call him elderboy or brother. No need to remind them of one who did not exist. "There's no need for undue delay, is there?" He nodded quickly. "Talabrina - you know the way well enough, yes?"

Presumably Talabrina had given some gesture of affirmation as well, because then Laele returned her attention to Ranaghar. "The Matron wishes a more detailed report than is possible with sendings, and I have my own to give you as well regarding recent events. Otherwise, I am afraid you might be somewhat taken aback by developments in the city. What say you?"

Ranaghar ducked his head. "As you will." It was the only thing he could say.

* * *

Ranaghar knew a deathtrap when he saw one, but he dismounted at Laele's bidding at the end of the tunnel and tethered his lizard to the stone protrusion she pointed out. Though he knew he wouldn't be able to see them if they existed, he found himself scanning the stone around and below him for bloodstains from previous visits.

"Look at me," Laele told him once she'd restrained her own lizard.  
_  
Do not dare look at me_, it had been from everyone since before he was old enough to understand. Then, when he didn't look, _look at me_. He looked and didn't look, as he was prompted. He looked at her now.

"It has happened to you as well?" It was not truly a question.

In the first moment Ranaghar was on the verge of simultaneously asking how she knew and throwing himself to the ground with accompanying entreaties that he could still be of use, that he was still loyal. The first he discarded immediately - the yochlol or Lolth herself would likely tell her things he could never fathom, as they had probably always told her.

The second required minimal additional thought. He was not entirely sure he _could_ be of use. It was another priest the House needed when Ranaghar was sixteen, and it was a priest they got. Now what he offered them was another mediocre warrior, with the knowledge of tomes' worth of irrelevant lore. Laele would know just how useful he was and saying such a thing, lie or not, would show desperation. She'd probably inferred that already, but no point in proving it twice over.

It was only when he had by default settled on silent gaping that he realized the import of her phrasing. "_As well_?"

"Did I not say you would be taken aback?" Now she was the one who would not look at him. She instead watched her fingernails trace each other's edges. "If you have that spell, you may cast it. It will not change what I have to say."

He cast with deliberate movement and precise intonation, sparing a part of his attention to be sure she did not lash out in the middle of it. Once it was cast, he focused on Laele, the familiar aura clear to him. Of course she would probably substitute half-truths for any falsehood she might have said otherwise, of course she was probably laden with blocking magic or else was able to hide it by strength of her will, but there was a way to test the latter somewhat. "A lie, then?"

She nodded readily and after a moment's thought gave the wrong names to their cousins. Ranaghar sensed the telltale fluctuation and nodded back, satisfied. "You need not worry about being the only one," she went on, her aura returned to serenity. "There are no male priests of Lolth. Those that we may remember - those she no longer recognizes."

"None?"

"None in Ched Nasad. In other cities? Perhaps, but unlikely."

"Kelnozz Vrammyr, also?" He had not set out to learn their names but, unique as they all were, there were fewer names to learn and he recited the first to come to mind. "Calimar Glannath? Nilonim Ssambra?"

"They do not exist." Try as he might he could not see what it was about her fingernails that so interested her. "Not according to Vrammyr, and Glannath, and Ssambra. Perhaps they exist in another form…" She shrugged. "Perhaps they exist as you exist. What they called themselves? What you call yourself? Those do not, and never did. 'What a question,'" Laele mimicked. "'A _male _priest of the Spider Queen - were you taking Reverie through your education, girl, or were you simply deaf?' That is the truth now, brother. That is how it has always been."

This happened to certain Houses, certain individuals. For the most part they stayed that way, only emerging from some mental crevasse or another at intermittent periods - as Rai'gy Bondalek and all of his House had not long before. But when he applied the concept to himself, there was rebellion; the last time Ranaghar had wanted so badly to argue had been years before. There _had_ been, _he_ had been. He had been granted clerical spells, he remembered them still. Surely that proved -

It proved nothing, except that he was a heretic and that he compounded his heresy by serving another, so-called, god. He had seen several of those, in the course of his duties, and seen how they died.

When he was sixteen he'd thought it impossible, and when Matron Belarbreena informed him what his future course would be he had wavered as close to love as he ever had. And he'd been right in the end, it was impossible. All that had happened was that the contradictions were sorted out, expelling him from his waking dream.

"You are free to disbelieve, of course. You are free to enter the city in clerical garb and be torn apart for your blasphemy, if that is what you need to do."

"And what is it you gain from my believing? I must know what I die for?"

"If I have my way you will not die." At his raised eyebrow she said, "If I have my way you will not be harmed at all." No variation on either statement.

"You cannot do better for an ally than a disfavored and nonexistent priest?"

Seconds passed. Ranaghar gritted his teeth, maintaining the spell-sight. Laele's features shifted slightly, betraying greater movements beneath the surface. Finally she said in a resigned tone, "I do not understand. I pretend, of course. I pretend, but I do not see. No. I _do_ see."

Her voice rose as her visible misery grew. "I saw you. For past a hundred years I saw you. We might have been high priestesses but next to you I looked faithless, Aunt Phaere looked faithless, _Mother _looked faithless, and you were… thrown away." She babbled now, a habit that had seemed conquered. "Not even thrown. Only _dropped_. No longer existent, and never existent. Such is the fate of one of her most loyal servants." She shook her head. "You are male, true. But that did not stop her to start with."

He stared at her. He stared at her undisturbed aura.

"I did not come here," she said, "to do as they bid me." Misery gone, she smiled weakly. "If they had their way I would have you flayed alive by now. But I have not and I will not. There is no place for you in Ched Nasad, but there is more than Ched Nasad. There is more beyond the Houses. More beyond -" At the last moment she faltered from this final heresy and instead concluded, "Can we do no better than this?"

The spell-sight faltered, then faded as Ranaghar could no longer maintain it. It did not matter.

Slowly, he smiled back; it seemed to resonate, as Laele's own smile widened. She stood and turned for the lizards. "I brought something else for you to wear," she said. As it had been designed to do, the sheath released his dagger with only a faintest whisper, a whisper covered by her voice. "I think-"

She did not scream. First she froze, as if uncertain that her senses were working correctly. Then she half-collapsed. Ranaghar caught her with one arm.

"That was why you didn't have your whip," he said, tugging at the blade half-buried in her back. "Did it attack you? Do you hear her laughing now?"

Laele turned her head halfway, her visible eye large, and grabbed at him while she gasped a spell. The moment her hand brushed his arm an array of new-formed injuries began to seep blood. He staggered, dragging her with him, and gave the dagger another yank. Laele jerked in the opposite direction, arms flung outward. He dove after her. They crashed to the stone.

"The Spider Queen always gives a second chance," he told her as she tried to reach her mace. The impact had driven his dagger still deeper; giving up that one, he drew a second. "You - you say I am one of her most loyal, and then you expect me to turn my back on her so quickly. You do not know, do you? You never knew." He brought the dagger down across her hands, one after the other. They fell, twitching spasmodically.

"You thought I was like all males, cringing and looking for any chance to run. But you were right about another thing - my faith is stronger than yours. It had to be." He aimed originally for her throat, but he had no idea where it actually pierced her and did not look down to see. Instead he removed it with considerably more ease, then up and down again. Again. Several times the dagger struck stone. "I had to _mean _my devotions, more than ever you did. I had to rid myself of doubts. And _you_- I could not believe it at first, but you must be my second-"

He looked down. She was not moving. His hands automatically folded, cupping his dagger between them. The prayers came to him easily and he said them once, twice, eight times in total, with an unfaltering voice. There Ranaghar stopped.

Laele's intact eye stood out; it looked as though it did not belong. As though someone had dropped it there. He could make out stains forming on his sleeves, blotting out designs of webbing as they spread, and distractedly spoke one of his healing spells. Some of the pain he'd forgotten about abated. The remainder made its presence known.

_What else might I have -? Ah. Of course. _

It was the most flawless removal he had ever performed even without access to sacrificial paraphernalia, even as his hands trembled. He raised Laele's heart above his head, taking care not to let it slip from slick fingers, and started over with another eight.

Nothing. 

_One… two…_

Not nothing. Lolth laughed. Or was it her?  
_  
Three… four…_

Was it her? Did it matter?

_Five… six…_

Was he disfavored, or mad?

_Seven…_

Disfavored or mad? Did it matter?

_Eight…_

He decided it didn't.

END

* * *

CANONICAL NOTES: In the sourcebook _Demihuman Deities_ , some four percent of Lolth's clergy was male, though they didn't have a very easy time of it; I also got the "second chance" business from information in that book. In the more-recent _Faiths and Pantheons_ , however, Lolth's clergy is exclusively female, which is admittedly what would seem to make more sense. But something had to have happened to that four percent, right?

Rai'gy Bondalek, the wizard/cleric, appears in R. A. Salvatore's _The Silent Blade_ (which gives more of the circumstances behind what was referenced in the story), along with other books in the "Paths of Darkness" series, though his name is rather inconsistent. He was... unavailable for the period I wanted to cover, so I dreamed up poor Ranaghar to torment instead.

Unlike the clear shift from first to second edition of D&D rules as far as sourcebooks and fiction, there's no big event to commemorate the change from second to third. Therefore, I've engaged in some guesswork in regards to dating.

Anything else in need of clarification? Feel free to ask. And feel free to review.


	2. The Masked Lord's Embrace

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to the reviewers for "The Spider Queen's Second Chance" (this doesn't count as a review reply, does it?).

GENERAL WARNINGS: Language, semi-detailed violence and injury.

* * *

_Traditional Gender Roles_

**The Masked Lord's Embrace**

The Year of Wild Magic (DR 1372)

The doors of the audience chamber closed behind Shurdriira. Though she was in charge of covert operations and certainly trusted more in this case than Alystin's brother Merinid, who was elderboy and Weapons Master besides, it was the policy of House Zaphresz to keep knowledge of such episodes restricted to the female nobility as much as was feasible. Even the guards waited outside, ready to enter on a moment's notice. To compensate, the five other priestesses in the room were laden with an overkill of magical items.

Perhaps not so much overkill, all things considered.

Blood from Alystin's face left streaks on the floor when she lifted her head. "How could I?" she echoed once she gained her feet. Behind her back, unseen to the other priestesses, her hands curled about the appropriate sections of the rope Shurdriira had tied around her wrists and fingers. "There's a simple answer to that. _I didn't_. What could I have to gain?"

"Stupid girl," said Olorae. She stood beside the Matron as befitted the eldest daughter.

"To think we would believe that, now," said the Matron from her throne.

"You would have had plenty to gain," said Xune, who still stood before Alystin with her scourge of fangs at the ready. The fangs were bloody as well. "Or so one of weak faith would have thought."

"Weak faith…?" Alystin's own whip twisted on the floor, hissing faintly, fooled as the goddess who granted it had been fooled. She eyed it for a time, then looked up. "I suppose evidence would be expecting too much?"

"The evidence has already been presented," said Olorae. "Did you think your heresy would aid you in rising above your present station?"

Alystin tugged the rope slightly and was satisfied at its give. _The Masked Lord bless Shurdriira._ "Your so-called evidence comes from the babbling of a commoner you tell me was already caught. Need I note that my name was never mentioned during the… prior incident?" Though Elaugyrr told her, after she called him back from the shadowed realm of Ellaniath, that he hadn't even known about Merinid.

"You may not have turned at that time," said Xune. She was the Matron's second daughter, the one to expose the secondboy's religious practices ten years before, and her voice tended to shrill when she raised it - especially on the word "sacrilege." She'd said it again and again as she held down Elaugyrr's hand for Alystin to cut off his fingers, half-triumphant and half-fearful that their goddess would not consider House Zaphresz's quick purge of this deviation sufficient. The goddess considered it sufficient, while deviations elsewhere quietly multiplied.

"But given recent events," Xune continued, stepping back to her original position, "we might have expected the turning of foolish weaklings - weak in power and in faith."

Nedylene and Jhulae stood flanking Olorae and Xune as they in turn flanked the enthroned Matron of House Zaphresz. Nedylene was Alystin's younger sister, while Jhulae was Xune's daughter, so far the one female out of the two born in her generation. Both were novices, yet to reach fifty, and they'd been called back from their schooling, presumably to witness this as they had witnessed the last time. In lieu of a high priestess's whip, Nedylene clutched a ritual dagger and Jhulae had one of her heavier books. At Xune's words they grew even more tense.

Alystin heard the doors open behind her. The Matron, seeing what she did not, half-started from her throne. "And what brings _you_ here, male?"

"Your pardon, Matron," said Merinid. Alystin turned around then, remembering to let go of the rope. He stood in the doorway, eyes lowered. Beside him, Olorae's son Seldszar's obvious efforts to stop his knees shaking only exacerbated the problem. Shadows from the lit braziers in the room seemed to flicker around them. "I was told you sent for us."

"I did no such thing. But since you are already here," the Matron snarled, "you may as well _come in_."

As Alystin looked back to the priestesses Olorae advanced, drawing her whip. "Do you think because you are Weapons Master you can intrude like - _you_ ! You squeaking kobold -"

She looked back. Merinid walked further into the room with Seldszar in tow, the latter apparently debating whether it would be better to face his mother's wrath or to flee the House, the city of Guallidurth, and possibly the Underdark altogether. Would Merinid have told him? Seldszar was terrible at keeping secrets - but then, that would shortly no longer matter.

"Who do you claim spoke on my behalf?"

"Shurdriira said you wished my testimony regarding Kyorla Alystin's-"

The snakes of Olorae's whip snapped over his head. "She is no Kyorla." Alystin had stopped herself at that rank; it was high enough so that she wouldn't be considered a miserable disappointment in need of elimination, but there was no need for them to know just how much she presently held in check. "She is no priestess of Lolth." Olorae snapped them once more. Several strands of Merinid's hair, brushed upward by their passage, stood nearly on end. "She has no right to the title!"

"Well?" prompted the Matron. "The so-called testimony? Perhaps it will save you some grief." It wouldn't, Alystin knew from her tone. There would be a thrashing for Merinid and Seldszar no matter what they said, as a sort of proof of continued power.

It was good, then, that their power truly had deserted them.

"Only, it _does_ seem strange, does it not, that any noble female would ever turn to such a god as Vhaeraun, third daughter or no…"

"It does seem - _what_?" The Matron shouted as Olorae lashed out again. Merinid barely dodged this one. "Just how do you know it was-"

Alystin half-expected the burst of light, but she still reeled backward with the rest of them, and almost screamed with them as well. Then she remembered her god-given protection and yanked at the rope. The seemingly-elaborate knotting came apart as Shurdriira had intended it, collapsing into loops. She tossed it to the floor in time to grab a blinded Olorae as she stumbled away. Merinid looked up now, the haze around him distinct in the intense glow that emanated from his drawn short sword. With his other hand, he pulled out a black half-mask she recognized as his holy symbol.

As he advanced, Alystin managed to knock the whip from Olorae's hand, joining Alystin's on the floor. Behind her, she could hear Nedylene and Jhulae shrieking, while the Matron and Xune cursed and shouted for the guards; below that was the sound of someone quietly chanting a spell next to her. Seldszar peered about through his own shielding haze, eyes wide in his drawn face, then drew his own rapier and lunged forward.

Something sliced the air as it passed Alystin's head and a third figure abruptly became visible beside her, holding a dart and another half-mask. His invisibility lost, Elaugyrr grinned as he pushed the mask into her free hand and made his way across the audience chamber. She shoved Olorae away for Merinid and Seldszar to deal with and turned toward the rest of the room. Jhulae had lifted her book before her face as an improvised shield. Nedylene was trying to do the same with her dagger. Xune fumbled at her belt, simultaneously clutching at the general area where Elaugyrr's acid arrow jutted from her robes. The Matron had managed to draw a wand and shout a command word.

Then it was all a jumble of chanting - hers as she dispelled the giant spider summoned by the wand, Merinid's as he called on Vhaeraun to enhance his strength and skill, Elaugyrr's as he sent out more acid arrows, the priestesses' as they read off scrolls once their eyesight returned. Mixed in were sounds from outside, as the guards encountered complications, followed by the entrance of more combatants after the guards were taken care of. The roar of divine and arcane fire. Gurgles, cut-off screams, and then -

"_Don't kill me_!"

Jhulae's voice, Alystin observed as she put a hand to her face and murmured a spell of healing, had distinct traces of her mother's shrill.

"Please. By the Dark Mo-" Nedylene apparently realized that might not be the best oath at the moment.

"We never - we never truly - please - if my aunt could, might we…" Jhulae trailed off.

"_This_ I suppose we should have expected," said Merinid, dispelling the light. He was distinctly worse for wear, but not as badly wounded as she'd feared he would end up at some points.

Alystin looked toward where Nedylene and Jhulae had curled up on the floor. In a way, the late Xune was right. With Lolth gone it was natural that their faith would be tested. When their faith was found lacking, it set their survival instinct free to assert itself.

"They may not be as sharp as you," said Merinid, seeing her grimace, "but they might come around."

* * *

Shurdriira was one of those who had entered at some point. She proceeded to frisk Nedylene and Jhulae as Alystin and her brothers went over the bodies. More gradually edged in from their positions outside the door, carrying their wounded. Alystin looked to them for distraction from Merinid's chosen topic of conversation. 

Once she had stabilized the first cases tentatively presented to her, her eye was drawn to one supported by a moving ring of his companions. As they shifted, she glimpsed a shattered ruin of a hand, stained bandages over the eyes. She waited for them to near her general area - no closer, as they were evidently trying to avoid her. "He is the one who-?"

"Yes," said one of them. "We fetched him out from the dungeon. He thought you'd be able to get out of it. And I suppose you did. He did not mean you ill," he said, the speed of his voice increasing exponentially. She had heard that quality often, but rarely applied on the behalf of someone other than the speaker. "Truly he didn't - he wasn't anything special, he wasn't used to this sort of-"

"He can live to tomorrow as is?"

Hands fluttered in the sign language. "He can."

"Then he can wait." She expected a stiffening, a muttering - _What can you expect from a female?_ There were only a handful of females in the group, and none were in the ring around her betrayer. Instead there was general relaxation.

"Do you think you can pass?" Elaugyrr was in the process of tossing house insignias and platinum holy symbols onto a pile of regalia to be offered to Vhaeraun, which already included three extremely agitated snake whips.

Alystin picked up her own and held it at arm's length. "They might have had other proof. They probably did. They're certainly high-strung, what with the Spider Bitch's hopefully permanent nap-" Stifled squeak from Jhulae. Alystin ignored her. "But I doubt it's gotten so bad that they'd drag in high priestesses on the basis of information forcibly extracted from an already-condemned male. I'll have to use a spell to be certain."

Elaugyrr frowned. "I don't suppose you've any of the sort left for this cycle."

"I'm afraid not. Have we got any other spider-kissers to worry about?"

Shurdriira spoke while examining the scroll she'd just confiscated from Nedylene. "We activated the contingency plans once I told your brothers. The official line is that all this is the unexpected results of one of your usual third-daughter schemes. While I wouldn't say there is nothing to worry about - and we could hardly massacre everyone else in the House - anyone within these walls who might have contemplated vengeance on behalf of the late spider-kissers is now removed from the equation… with, of course, two exceptions. Done."

Merinid nodded back and pointed to several of the drow around the chamber, then indicated Nedylene and Jhulae, who Shurdriira yanked to their feet. "Take them someplace you can leave them. Not the dungeons," he added. "They'll not be maltreated, understood?" His fingers spelled out more, out of sight of the pair - _We should not make more enemies than necessary. _The soldiers nodded and formed a parody of an honor guard.

Once they were gone, he continued. "That still leaves whatever allies are on the outside. Not to mention those eager to take advantage of this sudden weakness. Should they discover whatever they found out here, or anything like it… even with the Masked Lord granting us spells, and the fortuitous absence of their goddess, the House stands no chance against all of Guallidurth combined."

"What says they _will _combine, though?" said Alystin. "What says they will not dissolve into squabbling over rituals and return their attentions to killing one another?"

Merinid shook his head. "Even if they go at it scattered, they will all try - not one of the factions will suffer heretics in the Temple City. At least one will be lucky eventually. I can't see that staying is an option."

"Ah. Yes. We leave the House, then?" The prospect pleased her as she thought it would have - then, to her consternation, Alystin realized she was frightened in an equal amount. She honestly hadn't imagined, with any semblance of realism, what she might do in the aftermath of some of her fonder fantasies.

"The House? Certainly." Merinid rubbed his hands along his holy symbol. "The city? Quite possibly. The Underdark altogether…? In any case, we need to make our escape good before they spend serious effort in making sure we don't. I'm hoping for another of your good Reveries, Alystin. In the meantime, we need to discuss matters with our surviving relations."

"_We_?"

"It couldn't hurt for them to be reminded that we are interested in balance," said Merinid, "not in simply turning the current system on its head."

* * *

After there had been a great deal of further talk that ended in pledges to request spells of divination and think about it afresh after taking Reverie, they sent for Nedylene and Jhulae. Elaugyrr used a remaining spell to create a series of telepathic links from Alystin to Merinid to Shurdriira to himself. This, he explained, gave them the ability to argue between themselves as necessary while still presenting a united front to their potential converts. Shurdriira left to continue her efforts securing the House, telling them she would report if necessary. Many of the others stayed to watch, and none of them were able to think up an adequate reason, just then, as to why they should leave. There was still a protective circle around the mangled one, who seemed only half-aware of his surroundings or else completely unaware and matching the occasional reaction with stimulus out of chance. The thinned look had left Seldszar's face for the most part, though his knees still hadn't stopped shaking. 

As she passed through the doorway, Jhulae rubbed at her face as if wiping tears or testing a new bruise. When Nedylene entered she was nursing fingernail marks, visible with the sleeve of her robe pulled back from her arm. Merinid caught the eye of one of those in the "honor guard" and lifted an eyebrow.

_It wasn't us, _the soldier signed in response. _They had some kind of disagreement. _

Their injuries were soon forgotten or given token rubs as they peered - a sidewise slide toward Merinid with his donned half-mask and short sword resting across the tops of his knees, Alystin adjusting her own mask - and then, abandoning all pretense, Elaugyrr nonchalantly sorting the plundered magic.

Oh yes, Elaugyrr.

"I'm sure you've realized by now," Alystin said to them after she judged they'd stared long enough, "Vhaeraun granted me more power than I chose to reveal before this. Someone ten years dead and with his heart cut out would have been beyond the ability of what I pretended to be - but it wasn't beyond me."

* * *

In the private conversation they'd had before Elaugyrr's heart was cut out, Merinid had been rocking back and forth - a motion either to soothe his contained fury or to aggravate it. "Males oppressed and under attack must be aided," he muttered, quoting the tenets. His voice seemed to rock as well, or at least to shake. "In any circumstances. What path might we take that will not lead to an even harsher search for dissension? It would be suicide. Our god is not one who advocates suicide. Still, to stand by - and you tell me that he truly was one of ours -" 

"He was one of ours." A spell of lie detection while he frantically protested his innocence was all she needed. "And he _will _be aided." She showed him the vial. It was of the type often used by wizards to preserve necromantic specimens and the like. She could not remember, now, whether the vial's former owner was Elaugyrr himself. That would have been a fair touch. "It is just that it must wait a while longer. I can sneak a small piece - a small piece is enough. Who keeps watch for the dead?"

For once, Merinid was surprised. And impressed - she could see it in his face. For all her lesser years, she'd had the advantage of spending them steeped in the workings of the divine - even if much of it was the wrong divinity. While Merinid was undoubtedly superior so far as stealth and combat, his progress with clerical spells was sluggish in spite of their clandestine efforts.

She slipped the vial back into its hidden pouch. "I only hope that they don't manage to kill each other before we avenge him."

"You mean before he avenges himself?"

"Before he avenges himself," she corrected, and they smiled.

It had taken some time, but this year, when Lolth turned away from the material plane, she took the opportunity.

* * *

"_Why_?" 

The word was uttered simultaneously by Jhulae, Nedylene, and - to his obvious consternation - Seldszar, snapping Alystin from her mental wandering. They had all spun in her direction, followed shortly by everyone she could see and likely several she couldn't. _Er. What?_

Merinid replied through the link, saving her the embarrassment of asking aloud. _I was telling them about Vhaeraun's tenets, you see, and correcting misconceptions as to the date of your suborning._

"But - why -" Jhulae swallowed and stepped backward, careful not to bump into Nedylene. "I don't see why - _before_… you know… before she stopped, then _why_?"

Alystin looked around her. She would wager most of those present didn't see either - they'd accepted it, but there had never been a sit-down-and-explain session, there had never been enough time or security.

Seldszar, with the look of one fastening a garrote around his own neck and wondering why he was doing it, said, "But… you're female. Um. Aren't you?"

"Unless the definition's been changed on me."

"Then what do you gain from following a god of male drow?"

Near everyone, it seemed, was here and listening - and the others could be told later. Now was good a time as any.

She gestured at those around her. "True enough. The majority of the Masked Lord's worshippers _are_ male - being, after all, in the best position to see the reality. It's that much easier to see it, when you know that you deserve better than the lot you're assigned. Don't you deserve better than what you got?" she addressed the onlookers. "Isn't that why you're here?" General assent. Encouraged, she continued with rising fervor.

Insight, she told them, like idiocy, transcended bounds of gender. Sometimes females, too, could see while their fellows were blinded by promises of glory and superiority - over other races, over males of their own race, over females below them in station. Sometimes females, too, saw the pointlessness of all the constant infighting, the mad scrambling to cater to ever-changing divine whims, the wasteful killing, the arbitrary exaltation of one gender over the other.  
_  
You're starting to sound maudlin, _Merinid observed. _And you want to give those two some incentive. They might not agree with you on what the rest of us take for granted. Nobody wants to be called an idiot._

_Idiots is all I_ can _call them. They never asked questions, they've never been anything but spider-kissing drones, they have no spark-_

_And as I also said, they might come around. _And he said something else much as he'd also said before, _They can't all be as sharp as you are now._

_Come now, sister, _said Elaugyrr, as he grinned and drew several puzzled glances. _Don't be jealous. Surely Vhaeraun can provide enough good Reveries for all three of you.  
_  
"And of course," she said, tempering her indignant tone, "sometimes females prefer a god who does not abandon them for no apparent reason, nor sort them according to how many older relatives they have still living. He pays mind to third daughters…" turning to Nedylene, "not to mention fourth daughters." Nedylene's eyes widened as she considered this. _Is that enough incentive for you? _"Now. We'll not have any whining about 'sacrilege'-" She thought her imitation of Xune's shrill was passable. "-or the like. If you change your mind… you can't leave, needless to say. And what would you do if we let you? Of course, you might well feel like taking your chances without the support of a House, or the spells the Spider Bitch used to grant you. But who knows - perhaps her precious chaos will take pity."

As she turned toward the pile of offerings Merinid said, "We will speak again later."

Later he would fill their ears with sweetness, coax them into reaching out and devoting themselves to a new god. Her brother, the one who had truly suffered under the rule of the Spider Bitch - her brother would be the gentle one, the patient one, the understanding one.

* * *

_What,_ Merinid complained after they'd done with the sacrificial rituals and Alystin returned to her rooms, _do I say to that?_

Alystin paused in the middle of taking inventory of her magical equipment. She had half-forgotten the mind link. _What do you say to what?_

From Merinid's tone, it seemed he'd half-forgotten as well. _Seldszar has been making further inquiries about the faith. _

Good for him. And?

Oh - nothing, really.

She unrolled scroll after scroll and inspected each before returning them to their cases. _Nothing, you say. _

_He began by asking what I meant by hoping you had a good Reverie. _

_Fair enough. So you told him?_

_I told him._

_And then? __Merinid? _

_Seldszar asked,_ Elaugyrr interjected, _why you had "good Reveries" and Merinid didn't seem to, seeing as he had to hope for yours. He'd accepted the explanation as to why Vhaeraun accepts females at all, but this development threw him somewhat._

_Considering his only basis for comparison, _Alystin replied as she capped the last case and seated herself on the Reverie couch, _that's to be expected, isn't it? Whoever heard of the Spider Bitch personally whispering in the ear of a male priest - that is, when she had them?_

_Yes, exactly. _Pause. _Merinid? What's keeping you? It can't be that hard to answer him. _

_It _is _hard when you don't know the answer._

_Don't let _that _stop you, _Elaugyrr advised. _Say she can call back the dead from a piece of bone, while what you can manage is… what you can manage. Exact truth, as long as you don't say "because." It might be the truth, even so. Oh, and by the way, you're doing a good job of looking thoughtful while you stall. I do believe he believes it._

Eyes closed. Breath in, out. She sat here as she'd sat a cycle before. She sat here, and elsewhere her mother and her elder sisters rotted, waiting for her to pry their secrets from their reanimated tongues. She sat here, and she wore the mask without care as to who might catch her at it.

_Say, _said Elaugyrr, _if you do have a good Reverie this cycle, why don't you ask? _

* * *

As it was, it was an excellent Reverie. They sat across from one another in a facsimile of the Night Above, in a tall patch of surface foliage she remembered was called grass. The Masked Lord leaned forward to whisper, as was his habit. One arm swept his cloak into a flowing curtain halfway around Alystin's dreaming body. She could see stars through the cloak, as if it were a dark soft glass along with that part of his arm enfolded within. She listened to the gifts that he presented to her concerning their future plans and put away each piece of information for closer examination on waking, wondering all the while what it would be like to have him reach out with his other arm and bring the other half of the cloak around her as well. Like the holy day called the Embrace come early, Alystin imagined - like floating in the midst of a nest of shadows. Like that, but in some way increased. 

"You are not angry?" she dared ask him.

"That," he said, "is a terribly general question. There are so very many things to be angry about, I can generally find one on a moment's notice. Am I angry at _you_, do you mean? Now why would that be?"

"I was going to still be able to pretend, if you wished it of me."

"You can still pretend if I wish it," he said. "It takes only a change of venue, or of identity."

She nodded and listened as he dropped hints. Males did not hint as such in Guallidurth; active pursuit was anathema. The general practice was to keep their heads down and wait to be ordered forward. Neither were there hints from her fellow worshippers; they respected her relevant position, but it was Merinid they were familiar with. Of course, a god would not have these difficulties. Early on she'd reveled in the novelty and laughed at the light-voiced intimations. He laughed with her.

After so many years they settled for grinning at each other, his eyes shining blue and declaring his mood twice over. Blue meant faerie blood, she read once. Or possibly human blood. According to that text, blue-eyed drow ought to be sacrificed immediately. The memory widened her grin.

Alystin couldn't imagine Lolth ever plying her nonexistent male priests with such things.

For some time after he was finished, she stayed silent. Then she asked the question. Rather, she asked if she might ask. Ever since it came to her in so many words from Seldszar by way of Merinid, it had waited discreetly in the background.

"You were always such a curious one." The blue had swirls of green in it now. "I suppose it is not such a great thing for one such as me to remember, but I do remember. You asked so many things, wondered so many things, though you were clever enough to learn not to ask aloud. But they never stopped you wondering, did they?"

"They never did." And she asked him the actual question.

"Ah, a fit of modesty," he said. "Why ought I not?"

"Do you say that to all your priestesses?"

She meant it as a jest, but he frowned before he smiled again, and this time the smile was different. "I have seen what happens when clerics go neglected."

"I am not about to wander away from you," she tried again.

His voice stayed light, his eyes blue. In spite of this, or because of it, her spine felt transmuted to ice. "No doubt you would have told the Spider Bitch that as well, had she bothered to visit."

Alystin's eyes in Reverie stayed open. She wished they would close. "I wouldn't mean it any more than Merinid."

"Your brother already knows what the best thing for him is. She never offered him anything beginning to rival what I offer, and we both know what she offered you was hardly an improvement…" His phantasmal hands rested on her shoulders. "But growing up that much closer under her gaze tends to skew rational thought. I'm sure you've observed that."

"Yes." She swallowed. "I have. Yes."

"Does that answer your question?"

"It does."

"Then…" His smile returned to its previous state, he continued his hints, and the chill left her. She laughed three more times before her Reverie ended. When it ended, she went to share with Merinid what Vhaeraun told her.

"It's a sensible thing to do when you think about it," she said, and he agreed.

END

* * *

CANONICAL NOTES: At the nebulous time of _Demihuman Deities, _over 99 percent of Vhaeraun's clergy is male, and the only female priests are double agents, or "Masked Traitors," in Lolth's clergy. There's no updated word on gender restrictions in _Faiths and Pantheons_ . 

Vhaeraun is known for involving himself on his worshippers' behalf. On top of this, he has been known to give Masked Traitors special attention - including passing them information in their dreams, though I admit taking some liberty with his exact modus operandi. In addition, "he often (falsely) hints he is willing-" (insert "to" here, presumably) "-grant immortality to worthy traitors or even elevate them to the role of his consort." So... yeah. A god with "drow males" in his portfolio has got to have _some_ kind of reason for that. Here's hoping I haven't made a wreck of him.

I haven't got a good excuse this time for not using the available priestess in canon, except that she'd stick out like a sore thumb in a collection that's otherwise made up of "original" characters.

* * *

Well, thanks for reading this far. Please review and all that, if only to say what you think went wrong. 


	3. The Waiting Spider's Sword Arm

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yep, it's been a while. There's been a lot going on in the past couple months. Hopefully there's not too many deserted seats in the audience, and hopefully this one can keep the rest of you.

SPOILERS FOR: Selvetarm's status at the time of War of the Spider Queen.

GENERAL WARNINGS: Oddly enough for a fic concerning the worshippers of a war god, this has the least graphic violence so far. Plenty of talk about it, though, not forgetting blood.

* * *

_  
Traditional Gender Roles_  
**  
The Waiting Spider's Sword Arm**

_The Year of Wild Magic (DR 1372)_

The voice of the priestess of Lolth rose abruptly as Micarlin Jhalavar got to work. "I'll not have my House gambled on your impulsive tendencies-"

The higher-ranking priests of Selvetarm always seemed to have a ready supply of blood for the ends of their braids. Adinirahc, for instance, had just finished a new set before receiving the message and so been the only one to forego the recent opportunity. He stood with the priestess of Lolth at the far end of the bunker, where they'd conversed in nominal privacy for some time before the priestess's shout - Filfaere, Micarlin remembered, her name was Filfaere. Filfaere stopped shouting quickly. From the sound of it she switched to hissing through her teeth. 

Like most of the other junior Selvetargtlin, Micarlin made her own arrangements concerning hair. Not the blooding - though she'd done that with Lesaonar, while he was still there. Saved the trouble of seeking the slightest of slights as grounds for challenge, though some did that in any case. Still others resorted to blood of thrall or rothé; Lesaonar called that a pathetic practice and took some knocks for it. Blasphemer he might have been, but she thought him right about that much at least.

Micarlin's particular arrangement had gone on long enough so that when she finished with her own sword and met Ilztrysn's eyes he immediately handed his over. He'd done his part a cycle before, and done it well as usual - emulating the typical mage affectations without commensurate coin for years before he joined the Selvetargtlin was good practice. It was simple work to soak the ends, and soon they would be dry enough to serve as an impromptu weapon. The blade was functional enough, as Ilztrysn had demonstrated, but in the aftermath it could be tiresome to clean the designs adorning the hilt. She had sometimes been tempted to tell him he ought to learn to do it himself, but she hadn't learned to make a braid without hair jutting out in every direction like a fraying rope.

Adinirahc twisted, gesturing in their direction with one hand. Micarlin caught a canny bent to the visible half of his face. Along with the others she looked to Nadal, who sat as close to the two as he dared. In his training as a spellsinger, he'd learned to notice the vagaries of sound as well as produce it, which aided his scandal collection.

Nadal, ear and eye directed toward the conversation, signed his report. _Something about a message back to the temple. She wants to leave and come back with reinforcements. He says that we're in already, let's not waste it._

Chelanghym was one of the most reclusive of the middling Houses - Nadal picked up on this sort of thing. Filfaere Chelanghym was an exception, teaching at the temple as she did. The majority were so cloistered that were it not for the communication, likely not even Filfaere would have realized that the seclusion of her own House was abnormal as that of the Spider Queen herself - at least, not until it was _definitely _too late as opposed to _probably_.  
_  
Some might even call them paranoid_, Nadal had whispered. In Eryndlyn, where any given drow had at the very least thousands of default enemies made via theological disagreement, paranoid was not a term used lightly. 

Paranoid or not, the House defenses certainly did not seem lacking. Seem lacking, for they had failed regardless against the followers of Vhaeraun and Ghaunadaur whose bodies cooled several rooms back. The bunker was opened only after application of Filfaere's insignia and two passwords. Filfaere's mouth was closed on the subject of others, but she had revealed there were a few more around. It was stocked with ammunition, a small supply of healing potions, a cut crystal pitcher that refilled itself with water, and an equally elaborate bowl that filled with incongruously bland food on command. There were several openings to jakes and narrow tunnels. Judging from her expression when asked, even Filfaere wasn't sure where the tunnels led.

Micarlin glanced over at Ilztrysn, who poured out the pitcher across each stained hand. He hadn't memorized any of the spells she'd seen him use on occasion for that and for his sword. Especially now, even his cantrips tended to the martial. Natural for a Selvetargtlin, and natural in these times.

It had boiled for tendays. In the plaza around the Five Pillars, ringing the central lake, the three cities claiming the name Eryndlyn - for how could they be one in anything but name? - haggled over magical goods with almost the same ferocity as conventional combat. A number of Selvetargtlin with divine magic were set to producing wands, potions, and scrolls. The rest went about their patrols and stood sentry, ready to explode into motion when the other two cities made their move. When that happened, they whispered, they would enjoy the carnage, remembering the Time of Troubles while screaming the name of their god and consecrating their kills in his name. _Selvetarm, this one is for you._

Evidently their whispers had got out. Until whatever had befallen House Chelanghym, the other Eryndlyns of masks and oozes had essayed nothing - that they knew of.

She rubbed at the setting of one of the garnets in the hilt and breathed deeply, preparing - or trying to - for this cycle's divine communion. With every inch she cleared her mind, something came in to fill the gap.

* * *

She'd watched Lesaonar leave and that was the first she'd heard of the matter. He walked in the middle of the group and spoke with one of the other exiles, displaying his usual fervor. On one side of his face was a dark starburst that could have been either blood or the residue of something thrown. His fingers curled around his holy symbol, lifted the medallion on its chain away from his neck, displayed the spider on the crossed sword and mace to Selvetarm and everyone. He hadn't looked at her, or looked back. He might not have noticed she was there.

_He hadn't told her. _

Micarlin felt strange anger at this, worsened because if he _had_ told her of his heresy she wasn't sure at all what she would have done. It shouldn't have changed anything if he had done that, or even if he'd asked her to accompany him outright. She knew that should be the case. The risk was too great. And why should he have done it at all? But she still didn't know.

_I hope you're still alive,_ she thought as if the sheer rage of it would propel the words to Lesaonar wherever he might be. _Then I can track you down eventually, and kill you for tempting me to act like the faeriebrained idiot they think I am. _

To her further chagrin, she wasn't even sure she could manage that. 

She'd wandered in a rage for a tenday afterward. Everyone assumed she was indignant at their temerity. She did nothing to contradict their notion. Selvetarm didn't seem to mind.

* * *

"He may still be alive," Filfaere told them, her face strangely blank. "He" was one of the Selvetargtlin of House Chelanghym, who'd used a spell of sending to alert Adinirahc and by extension Filfaere to the situation. There had been theories as to why it had gone to Adinirahc, high priest though he was, and not someone of his own House. "Or others like him. Holding out in another of these, perhaps."

Adinirahc nodded. "We could always use more clerics." He didn't need to say _functioning_. Filfaere's face seemed even blanker. Two fingers pressed against her holy symbol, a disk pinned to her _piwafwi _below her House insignia. "Ilztrysn," he continued, "What mage spells have you left?" Ilztrysn nonchalantly counted off on his fingers; he trusted his other means to fend off any with inopportune ideas. "Then an hour and a half. I'll send word to the temple before we move on." Any blanker and she would no longer have a face.

At least this one hadn't a reputation for being excessively harsh. Else it would likely be Adinirahc who no longer had a face.

Perhaps that had changed. The stirrings Micarlin felt were not so great as they might have been; the Selvetargtlin, famed for recklessness, were careful in this. It could after all be a test for the followers of both gods or either. But there was stirring still, and who could fault them for taking advantage of the situation in true drow fashion?

While she ruminated, Adinirahc had assigned two others to watch the entrances and seated himself against a wall, sticking his legs out before him with his knees jutting up and outward. He took a moment to adjust his robe, then placed his hands together. Filfaere returned to the other end of the bunker and folded herself up in the typical manner of taking Reverie or communing - though she could hardly commune now.

An hour and a half. More than time enough to request her own spells and finish cleaning; the stains were not quite as bad as other times. She balanced Ilztrysn's sword across her knees and shut her eyes, her tongue twitching in vague mimicry of the prayers that ran behind her eyelids and were declaimed aloud in Adinirahc's voice, which could carry across battles with as much ease as Nadal's spellsong. Better luck this time.

* * *

"It is the sword arm of Lolth." The priestess in the middle of the street spread her arms as if to catch the drow passing her on either side. In one hand, she brandished a spider amber, presumably her holy symbol. In these times it was little more than a pretty trinket, but the priestess did not seem to mind. "It has come to punish the heretics. Our goddess has not left us. Our goddess has not left us."

Micarlin barely listened once she had the particulars. She'd been a child of the marketplace as much as a child of the Spider Queen. Her mother gave praises at appropriate times and backed the Eryndlyn of the western plateau when called upon, but she was a merchant first and not about to reject two-thirds of her potential coin even if it came from a drow who talked to slimes or donned a mask. Lesaonar's family was much the same. Neither of the progeny felt anything strong enough to the contrary to disrupt this amiable state of affairs.

A quick hand signal to Lesaonar beside her and they were running through the plaza, following its curve around the lake far below. They crossed the main bridge across one of the rivers dividing the plateaus, and when she glanced down there were bodies floating down the river toward the lake. She recognized several of the drow who fled in every direction but one, shouting to their gods. Ghaunadaur and Vhaeraun were as unresponsive as Lolth - that is, as Lolth in herself. Apparently she had dispatched her sword arm in her stead. 

"Do you know its name?" she asked Lesaonar. They leaned against the wall of a deserted shop. "I didn't catch it, if she even said."

"I think she said Selvetarm. Tanar'ri demon in the Spider Queen's service, was it?" He frowned. Another lot of mixed drow and thralls rushed by, one of the drow turning long enough to glare at them. "Or a tanar'ri who became a god, or a tanar'ri the Spider Queen made a god. There was disagreement on that." He hadn't quite the aptitude to be a wizard, but he was cleverer than Micarlin though that wasn't saying so much - clever enough so that his parents had thought magecraft a possibility for several years. He'd done quite a large amount of reading in the interim. "Or maybe just… a god."

She smiled at the sound of clashing weapons around the corner. "Shall we try and find out?"

That was the last thing either of them said for some time. Speaking would have ruined their waking Reverie. They watched the flurry of sword and mace, watched the techniques they'd practiced and observed ascend and combine with others into an art to make mages with their own "art" weep in envy when not concerned with the immediate matter of survival, watched the crimson rivulets run around the cobblestones, and Micarlin thought that even if she would never understand the priestesses of Lolth at least she understood the strength of their feeling.

One of Lesaonar's theories was eliminated shortly afterward. Among the others, he chose wrongly.

* * *

She finished and turned her head, pressing a hand to the back of her neck to prompt any stubborn muscle, to find Filfaere Chelanghym staring at her from the far corner. Micarlin blinked but kept her eyes up out of instinct. Some of the others looked on in her line of sight and at the periphery, most with knowing expressions. The expressions she recognized easily, having had her share of them directed at her from before word-weaning onward. She only wondered if their knowing was at the priestess of Lolth's expense or - possibly and - her own. Adinirahc chanted from his own position, either still engaged in his devotions or casting the sending. He showed no notice of the scene.

Filfaere lifted her hands and signed, _We will talk. _

Micarlin inclined her head in return and stood, taking Ilztrysn's sword and her cleaning paraphernalia in hand. She glimpsed Nadal signing, and judging from the addition of several more of those expressions he was informing again.

"Mistress Chel-"  
_  
Hand sign._ A minute smile, almost triumphant, and a flicker of yet another knowing. _Can you manage that?_

She seated herself. _Of course. _It hadn't come as easily to Micarlin as it seemingly had to most; no need for her to know. She lowered her hand and returned most of her attention to the sword. Filfaere, following her half-gaze, lifted an eyebrow but said - or signed - nothing.

Was this some private game? The possibility could not be discounted. Or it truly could be something she didn't wish others to overhear. Only one way to find out. In the meantime, she continued her work.  
_  
You are not truly from the west plateau._

She'd not set foot in Lolth's city proper until the end of the Time of Troubles. Lesaonar was with her, their eyes still filled with the witnessed wonder. At his suggestion she carried a spider, the largest they could find in the plaza. At her own suggestion, she did this after judicious use of antitoxin. It wouldn't do to arrive at the grand temple with an armful of venom-swollen bites. _The Five Pillars. Mistress._

_Ah. _Another of those smiles, though Filfaere's eyes still stared narrow. _You've not just graduated from wood in your scabbard, have you now?_

_I was in the city guard for six years before the Troubles_, Micarlin replied, ready for a statement along the lines of her certainly not showing it. The city guard was an institution of the plaza, paying heed to theological conflict only insofar as it affected market stability - though there had been quite some infighting among the more outspoken. Lesaonar was with her then as well, after the idea of mage training fell through.

_Do try to demonstrate that in the future. Gellaer, was it? _

Jhalavar.

The weapons merchant?

Weapons and armor. It could be she considered damage to the rest of the family. Response to an overstepping of bounds? An attempt to regain the attention of her goddess by excess chaos?

_Following in their footsteps?_

Not exactly, Mistress.

Not exactly?

Not exactly. I'm the only cleric at the moment. 

That's to be expected, isn't it? This time she did not smile.

It made a difference. She'd recognized this for years now; she might not know so many facts as Nadal did, but she perceived the gist of it. And how could there not be a difference? Some of the male Selvetargtlin, like Adinirahc or Lesaonar… they could match wits with any priestess of Lolth, and with her departure they dared this - those who were still there - with increasing frequency. This was the one of the better positions they could aspire to under a spider banner. There certainly could be no male priests of Lolth - in a distant city like Ched Nasad perhaps, but not in any Eryndlyn. The prestige was good enough even to excuse setting aside arcane study, as Ilztrysn had done, in hopes of being granted clerical magic from what divinity would pay him any mind.

But what female of any intellect would settle for serving Lolth's Champion when there was service to the Spider Queen herself to be had? That was the question they asked, and the usual answer seemed to be that none would. They could be right about that with the others. They could be right about Micarlin herself.

It would do her little good to dive deep into a maze of webs and accompanying spiders, to try and maintain herself among the truly devious and the clever. She was not clever. She knew that at least and was content where most things could be grasped with relative ease. There were occasional descents, but better than total immersion and fighting just to breathe amid the maze. They would think her more of a fool than she actually was; that was her price and she could pay it.

_No one ever suggested you honor Lolth? _

_We honor the Spider Queen. I honor the Spider Queen. _Even if it was by proxy, she did that. It was more than Lesaonar did. It was why she was still here.

Filfaere stared, stared, stared…

This was wrong.

_You must know what I mean. _Filfaere frowned. She did not appear to notice Micarlin's small epiphany. _Even you cannot possibly be so - why? You tell me that. _

The weak and the stupid were mocked, and this induced amusement. Amusement, not the focus Filfaere brought to bear now. Determination was wasted on such a pastime. But the other priestess was going about this as though she contended with an equal.

Suppose Micarlin _was_ her equal?

She managed to ride out the thought with only a stiffening of her neck and fingers.

_Mistress, you must have realized I am not exactly proper material for a cleric of Lolth. _

Proper material? The frown turned halfway into a snarl. _You are drow. You are female. That is enough._

_Enough for a novice, perhaps. I don't plan on staying a novice forever. _

Better to try for a reign among the males than be a fool among your own, is that so? Filfaere smiled again as she spelled this out.

Micarlin smiled back, watching the other smile freeze and go to pieces.

_Is there a point to this, Mistress Chelanghym? _

She guessed the point even as she moved her fingers. An equal. Yes. Whose god kept the absent Spider Queen's Eryndlyn from going to pieces? Whose god still answered her prayers?

Filfaere fought that. She continued to stare at Micarlin. Trying to shame her and distract them from her new advantage. An incompetent commoner, Filfaere would be assuring herself now, a blood-drenched dullard, a fool among her own.

A fool who still had her spells. So what did that make Filfaere?

Lesaonar was one of those to choose wrongly. Too few chose wrongly to make it right. Whoever heard of a city full of blasphemers? Blasphemers saying they were more than the Spider Queen's sword arm, Selvetarm himself was more. She only gathered that later on. Lesaonar hadn't told her any of it.

More than the Spider Queen's sword arm. A sword arm that fought on while the rest of the body slept (_or cooled_ was the intangible whisper in all three Eryndlyns, _or cooled, a corpse_) in the Demonweb Pits. The more powerful of the priests, Adinirahc included, had managed to speak with Selvetarm directly. It is not for him to disclose, they said on their return, with just the correct inflection to send tongues and hands in a speculative flurry.

In other cities maybe the priestesses of Lolth would say as they liked about that and no one could argue. But the existence of the other Eryndlyns was an argument in itself.

_Is there nothing else?_ Micarlin prompted. Her smile moved up to a grin. _Mistress? _

_Nothing else, _Filfaere managed with trembling hands. _Go. _She flung one hand in the appropriate direction. Micarlin went as directed, resisting the mad urge to yell out and declare victory in the name of her god. This expedition into the maze had gone not too badly at all.

She could pay the price. That didn't mean she _liked _it.

Some of the others turned to smile back at her as she neared. Ilztrysn waved briefly, keeping his hand raised. "Can you get it done?" _Did you…_

Micarlin displayed her progress on the hilt with one hand and lifted the other in response. "I ought to." _I did. _

More of those knowing looks. This time, Micarlin wore one of them. While the grin faded soon enough, she wore the knowing all through their remaining time in the bunker, and had the satisfaction of exchanging it with Adinirahc when he finally finished the sending to the temple. 

Lesaonar chose wrongly then. Was he vindicated now?  
_  
I hope you're still alive. Then I can track you down eventually and pay you back for not telling me._

Then I can show you this. 

END

* * *

CANONICAL NOTES: As of _Demihuman Deities, _at fifteen percent female (eight percent drow and seven percent aranea) Selvetarm's priesthood is the highest gender mix listed for the generally skewed drow pantheon.

From an article on the Wizards site concerning gods during the Time of Troubles: "Selvetarm rampaged through the drow city of Eryndlyn, located in hidden caves beneath the High Moor, attacking strongholds of the followers of Ghaunadaur and Vhaeraun. The avatar was eventually driven into the wild Underdark by an alliance of the victimized cults." Selvetarm's popularity (and by extension, Lolth's) increased in the aftermath; as of _Demihuman Deities _the followers of Ghaunadaur and Vhaeraun were still reluctantly allied in order to fend off their increased strength. However, a group of Selvetarm's followers ended up exiled for worshipping him "as a god in his own right" and took up residence in Undermountain, beneath Waterdeep. Their apparent fate is mentioned in the online "Return to Undermountain," Room 16 - the timing seems about right, although the drow in "Return to Undermountain" are described as scouts instead of exiles.

"Selvetargtlin," for the curious, seems to be a combination of "Selvetarm" and the drow word "sargtlin," or "warrior". It means just what you might expect.

The _City of the Spider Queen _web enhancement and the _Underdark _sourcebook give conflicting accounts of what happened in Eryndlyn during Lolth's Silence. According to the web enhancement, Lolth's faction was obliterated and the other two proceeded to have it out. According to the sourcebook, everyone pretty much sat around not daring to do anything. Neither source makes any mention of the Eryndlyn Selvetargtlin whatsoever. This story could take place either before events in the web enhancement or, more likely, after events in the sourcebook. 

Pharaun mentioned the plaza around the Five Pillars in one of the War of the Spider Queen books. Its location and function is my own invention.

* * *

Well, next and last up will be Eilistraee. To the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Lolthians - rest assured, the trend will not continue in that story in the foreseeable future. In the meantime, review? Please? 


	4. The Dark Maiden's Message

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well, this is it. Last call, unless I do appendices for Ghaunadaur and Kiaransalee. Further notes, as always, at the end, and updated for the newest chunk of lore as of November 5.

GENERAL WARNINGS: Language and mention of disturbing activities.

* * *

**  
**_Traditional Gender Roles_  
**  
The Dark Maiden's Message**

_The Year of Rogue Dragons (DR 1373)_

"He blundered into me around noon," said Talffyn as they walked through the camp. "Torn up something awful. His sense of direction doesn't seem so great - could be the sun. Maybe he wandered into the Velarswood evensong."

Tarlaunim winced and reflexively touched the hand-length sword dangling from a fine chain around his neck. "Tal-"

"If you're not going to stand up for yourself, 's my prerogative to do it for you." Talffyn was trained as a bard, not a cleric, but in this she was ferocious as he'd seen some of the Dark Ladies. "You heard what that excuse for a priestess said. You'd think this was the Underdark."

"She didn't say anything. Not about that. She _hesitated_. I'd be surprised if she _didn't_. Anyway. It wasn't too bad, was it?"

Talffyn frowned, but apparently she didn't want to drag through that argument again either. "It wasn't. All he could do was spit blood. Granted he did a lot of that. Spit all over Pellanarra before he passed out. But no wonder you tranced right through it."

"Any idea of allegiance?"

"Pellanarra thinks it's Vhaeraun. He wore the right sort of mask, and we found enough poisons stashed in his boots and so on to wipe out a hamlet. Not a drop of spider venom in the lot, though. He hasn't moved at all since, I don't think. Is that normal? Twice I thought he'd slipped off to the Fugue to wait for his god."

"Vhaeraun will not come for this one," Pellanarra interposed. "Not if we can help it."

They were almost at the tent now, near the center of the camp. Pellanarra stood in the entrance, one hand pulling the flap open. The other absently rubbed one of her swords. From Silverymoon in the north to here in Cormanthor Tarlaunim had seen her do wondrous things with them, and his admiration was tainted only slightly by the knowledge that he could not learn to do the same.

He hadn't thought he could learn _this_ until relatively recently. Maybe the matter of the Sword Dance, too, could change.

"He could respond better to a male," Pellanarra was saying now. "When Dilyn-" She stopped.

"I know about her," said Tarlaunim. "There's no need to edge about it."

Dilynrae was one of the other priestesses back in Silverymoon. She had no trouble with spiders, spiders could blanket her probably and she'd not twitch, but any hint of a snake set her to trembling - when Tarlaunim and Talffyn were children even a suggestively twisted rope could set her off. He guessed it had something to with viper scourges. "They turn on the priestesses who offend the Spider Queen," Talffyn had whispered, consulting her sheaf of foolscap notes. "Bite them and so on."

"When she was here at first she refused to listen to the males among us," said Pellanarra." She would order them about, insult them. It took some time for her to leave that behind."

"Yes," said Tarlaunim, "I suppose it would. This is… the other way around, in a sense?"

She sighed. "In some ways, they're more amenable to the message, but in others… and I suspect this one is a priest as well. I'm afraid you'll have your work cut out for you, but you seem to be the best prospect all the same. Don't hesitate to ask for guidance if need be."

He would have liked nothing more to assure her that he wouldn't need to, but in the long run he'd rather not eat his words.

Pellanarra stepped aside, still holding the flap. "Tarlaunim, why don't you take over from here? He rests now, and you know enough to tend to him until he wakes. Once he does… I have confidence in your judgment."

He swallowed as he came up beside her and looked inside. "It's good to hear that." Surely Pellanarra's opinion, with her experience in the faith, counted for more than his queasy gut.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "The Dark Maiden would not have called you to her service if you could not see to such matters."

* * *

Winter was not long gone, and those new to the surface often had a hard time of it unless they went raiding and shifted their difficulties elsewhere. Tarlaunim could make out far too many outlines of bone beneath the skin. When changing bandages he had the feeling of handling a doll - not a floppy one he'd cheerily mummified in white rags years ago while playing at being clerics with Talffyn, but porcelain not for a child to touch.

Lack of movement encouraged the impression. It was as Talffyn had said - about a candlemark in, he'd drawn breath and held it until, several regular breaths later, he spotted the corresponding exhalation. He banished as he did the thought that wouldn't it be a fine thing if his first charge died without either of them speaking. Pellanarra, of course, had already tended to any wounds that might have proven fatal.

Granted, Reverie was stiller than the sleep of other races, but it was normal to have _some_ movement, else elves would be constantly sore. And it might not be Reverie - the other drow's eyes were shut. If this was sleep then it was even more bizarre. Nothing to do about it, though, but to remember to shift the other drow himself every few candlemarks. The exercise was complicated somewhat by the cords wrapped around each ankle and attached to the edge of the pallet. Necessary precaution, he knew, as was the matching cord around the wrists and meticulously peacebinding the fingers. At least when he put a hand over that it wasn't so easy to feel bone.

For a while he sang, but then he stopped for a swallow of water and could not bring himself to continue singing to someone who likely couldn't hear. After that he rehearsed the message until the sun through the trees stippled the tent fabric with darkening gold. Then he ate his share of what was sent in on a tray, and at moonrise he used his few unexpended spells in further healing before he prevailed on someone else to watch while he sang in praise. He returned with renewed magic eager to take flight from tongue and fingers, and with the sensation that he'd been witness to a small miracle - a sensation that had mellowed but endured over hundreds of moonrises.

Shortly after that, Tarlaunim noticed a slight irregularity in the breathing he'd learned first to notice and then half-ignore. When he looked, the other drow was slowly blinking. Tarlaunim leaned over and murmured the standard soothings; it only took a few more breaths to determine the other was in no state to hear the message yet. He did have enough of a semblance of consciousness so that Tarlaunim could guide him to drink some water before he lapsed back.

* * *

The next morning Tarlaunim received a new tray. He turned to find the other drow staring about the tent best as he could while turning just his head and neck, eyes distinctly clearer. They passed over Tarlaunim several times before locking on him. Tarlaunim smiled and hoped it conveyed the desired effect; the words he'd meant to say had all got in a tangle.

Further movement, when it came, was cautious. First one leg, then the other, drew close until they were stopped by the ankle cords. Arms next; one elbow braced against the blankets and began to push him into a sitting position. He visibly winced at this point, and Tarlaunim hurried to support him, only just remembering to put down the wobbling tray.

At his touch the other drow recoiled with such wild force that he flung himself into the wall of the tent, which shook at the impact. He fell with a thump, letting out a cry of pain quickly stifled by his own hands, and tore them away just as quickly, staring at the bindings.

"Tarlaunim?" someone called from outside. "Is all well in there?"

Tarlaunim called back an affirmative and returned his attention to the other drow (he needed to ask for a name; he was tired of mentally applying that epithet, and "the Vhaeraunite" was hardly an improvement), who was taking gasping breaths while regarding Tarlaunim warily. Tarlaunim retrieved the tray and set it down between them before he sat down himself, crossing his legs.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He reflected at the incredulous expression on how sadistic it would be to say so and follow with hurt. "There's no need to worry." At least not about that. "As you've likely just heard, my name is Tarlaunim. Tarlaunim Coborel of Eilistraee, to be precise," he added, filling another cup of water and holding it out. "Might I have yours in return?"

The other drow gasped several more times before replying, drawing himself up best as he could with his injuries. "Zayrtel Telenna. Of Vhaeraun, though I suppose you knew _that_ already, considering…"

"Considering what?"

"Considering _this_." Zayrtel - what a relief, to have a name - gestured abruptly at himself. He was half-dressed if even that, though the extensive bandages were a fair substitute in the way of preserving his modesty. "You… they…"

His obvious mortification left Tarlaunim blinking. True, the Dark Maiden's followers had few inhibitions, but the drow at large were not exactly squeamish about such things either. Some of Talffyn's accounts had made that much clear. "We usually need to have some idea of wounds to care for them." He glanced about for clothing, putting down the cup. "None of us has developed the ability to see through clothes yet." He spotted a promising-looking bundle an arm's length away and managed to snag it. Unfolded, it turned out to be a pale gray tunic and leggings, a fair substitute for silver and probably requisitioned from someone the right size. He offered them one in each hand.

"_Nightshadows_, it's already been done. You think after the fact… fine. Better than nothing." They looked at one another. "Well?"

"Is there a problem?" A significant glance at the cords. Tarlaunim, now that he looked, couldn't imagine how either of them could get the clothes on over that arrangement. "Oh."

"_Oh_."

Tarlaunim considered. "I suppose I could take them off one at a time, if you wouldn't mind other tying meanwhile -"

"Forget it. Forget it. It's more trouble than it's worth." He'd slumped halfway and begun to maneuver a blanket over himself. "Look, I was stupid just then. I would have realized it was procedure if I had just taken a minute to think. I… overreacted. I apologize."

"There's nothing to apologize for."

"There wasn't any point in being angry." He'd managed to drape the blanket over his shoulders like a makeshift cloak, and pulled it in close. His mortification, if anything, seemed to have increased. "Certainly not with you."

That was anger? In retrospect, he supposed there was some of that, but it hadn't been the overriding impression. Did Zayrtel prefer him, then, to think of it as anger instead of…?

He picked up the cup and held it out again, giving it enough of a jitter to slosh the water inside. Zayrtel took it but did not drink.

"You were so still -"

"That _again_?" He eyed the cup. "I thought I'd left off since - it doesn't feel like I did."

"I did the moving in your stead. Are you feeling all right?"

"All right for nearly being sent to Ellaniath."

"What?"

"My god's realm." He stuck the cup back at Tarlaunim. "Though you wouldn't know that, would you?"

Tarlaunim looked at the cup, then at Zayrtel, and repeated this several times before he figured out what was being asked of him. He drained it in a gulp, refilled it and passed it back. It occurred to Tarlaunim then that in all the conversation he'd forgotten his other task entirely. "Speaking of which, I bring a message from my goddess."

With the safety of the water confirmed, Zayrtel sipped briefly. "I'm flattered. A message from a _goddess_. It's more than the Spider Bitch ever did for me. Go on, does it look like I can stop you?"

He cleared his throat and reminded himself to enunciate. "A rightful place awaits you -"

"'In the Realms Above,'" Zayrtel cut him off, "'in the land of great light. Live beneath the sun again where trees and flowers grow.' And here I thought it was personal." He feigned a yawn. "What? We do our research. You can tell _them_ they might do well to do the same." He tilted his head and smiled a smile seemingly calculated to diminish sympathy - but that couldn't be what he was after, could it? "You see, if you're going to make an offer, you should find out first what the other lot _already has_ ."

"I can't fault most of your memorization," said Tarlaunim. "Only, it's ' _come in peace_ and live beneath the sun again.' Something of a crucial difference there."

"Oh. Is it."

"Yes."

"Come in peace? Fine. That I can do. I'd like to see you try to _stay_ in peace with those unreasonable faerie elves."

"You speak as though they attack without provocation."

"Define 'provocation,' if you please. _I've _no problem with them when they're not trying to feed me arrows. They're the ones who throw a fit when others try to succeed where they failed. If that isn't unreasonable…"

"There _are_ elves who stayed here," said Tarlaunim, "and they haven't any less of a right to object."

"I don't suppose you've ever dealt with one of their objections?"

"They've had no reason to." Hasty convocations with the Dark Ladies of the Velarswood and their varied associates on the band's arrival in Cormanthor had ensured that as much as it could be ensured. He wondered if elves had caused the injuries.

"Oh yes, that _arrangement_." His tone summoned tale-built pictures of backroom dealings and whispers in alleys.

Better not get into that, Tarlaunim decided, if the subject wasn't pressed. He had to remember that the point was not to win the argument, but to convince, and if he stepped in that direction about all he could do was bog down. He sought another topic. Some idea of background would help him find the appropriate tack. "Did you happen to be raised on the surface?"

"Ha, if only. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"It was only a question," said Tarlaunim. "It happened with Talffyn and me, and there were others."

"Lucky you." On some level, he seemed to mean that.

"Not the surface. Odds are a Lolth-ruled city, then. Is that a fair guess?"

Silence. Zayrtel reached for something, then seemed to realize it wasn't there and let his hands drop. "Does it matter?"

"Yes." Right then he would much rather have served Eilistraee primarily by music, as Talffyn did - that he could have laid out ahead of time. But she thought him worthy of more of that. "So were you?"

"Fine. Yes. Next question?"

"And you left."

"Obviously."

"Why was that?"

"You definitely were surface-born. Otherwise you'd already know _why_ ."

"I can guess," said Tarlaunim. "But I'd rather not work with too many assumptions."

He took another drink. "Exactly. Such as assuming that your goddess's 'message' is something new."

"Speaking of which, I was wondering how you knew that. You overheard my practice?"

"What practice?"

"Never mind. Then you've… met others?" Tarlaunim felt himself tense as he spoke. There were only so many ways such an encounter could turn out.

"From a distance," Zayrtel said quickly. "I'm hardly the only follower of the Masked Lord in this forest. As I said, I did my research, and I'll not speak for how they knew."

Tarlaunim could guess. "You have companions?"

Zayrtel peered into the cup as if scrying, likely figuring whether it would be more or less advantageous to claim any. "I… never said that."

The camp was already prepared for raids in any case. It was always prepared. "Never mind. You were going to tell me why you left?"

"I wasn't."

"Are you hungry?"

"Ah, so that's how it's going to be."

"What…? No. It's not how it's going to be." Tarlaunim gave the tray a push in his direction. "There's nothing conditional about it."

He regarded the contents of the tray with a look of mingled relief and disappointment before tearing a piece off a small loaf of bread and tossing it at him. This time Tarlaunim caught it and acted as poison-tester without another awkward interlude. That arrived immediately after.

"We weren't all born on the surface, of course," Tarlaunim said at last. "Did I tell you about Talffyn? My twin sister."

Zayrtel had finished the bread with considerably greater speed than the water, and was currently swatting unseen crumbs.

"There was one time when she wanted to know absolutely everything about the Underdark. Mother and Pellanarra told her what they could, but when it came down to it they didn't have so many details. Tal wanted details." He remembered their mother fretting about this interest. She found it disturbing, verging on macabre. Talffyn had told her she wanted to know what they were spared. This failed to comfort their mother. "So she decided to find a firsthand source. Some of the ones I knew in the north… they didn't like to talk about it, especially the priestesses, but she can get the dead to speak."

"The _priestesses_?" Zayrtel's head snapped up. "How could _they_ know anything? They couldn't know _shit_ about that!"

"Talffyn asked them anyway, badgered them until they gave in. She took notes, and she read them to me." Tarlaunim hadn't wanted to know, hadn't felt it was a thing one should want to know. He'd listened anyway. "From that I can come up with a hundred reasons why you would want to leave-"

Zayrtel's fingers twitched in their ties. "You can use those if you want."

"Is it that awful? That hard?"

"I'd ask you again, _does it matter_? But I know the answer to that. It _doesn't_." He pulled himself in, hands resting atop his knees and knees drawn up to his chest. "You can get your sister to give it a try if _you_ think it matters that much. She can ask my dead-"

"All right," said Tarlaunim, "all right. We needn't go into that if you don't want to."

"Since when did what _I_ want come into this at all?"

"We're not like the followers of the Spider Queen. We oppose her destructive ways."

"So do I!"

"Eilistraee promotes compassion-"

"So you say while my kit and my holy symbol are gone and I'm _tied_ to the _bed_." One of the ropes jerked taut for a moment; he hissed and grabbed at the corresponding leg.

"Is it all right?"

"Fine. It's fine."

"_Compassion_," said Tarlaunim. "Not stupidity. The history between our gods is… not good. But we're not like _that_. Would a Lolth-worshipper have helped you as we did?"

"Assuming there's not thumbscrews and a rack stashed outside? Probably not. That's the way of it with them, with you, isn't it? That's the difference. You can't afford to waste _anything_." He laughed, still rubbing his leg best as he could. "I apologize. I apologize. I oughtn't take this out on you. There's no point in being angry."

That phrase again. "Why not?"

"No point in being angry with the messenger. You've obviously been sent by _them_ to extol the benefits of being a good little slave."

Outside Tarlaunim could hear the faint strains of a singing voice. If it hadn't been morning he would have guessed it to be evensong. They were supposed to be private, but sound carried. In the Velarswood they did it together, sharing their pent-up emotion.

He did not want, right then, to think about the Velarswood.

_Repay rudeness with kindness. _

He thought he recognized the voice as Pellanarra's. It was strident and proud as the singer usually was. Dance, of course, was her specialty.  
_  
I'm… not certain the faith is ready for a male Sword Dancer. _

Pellanarra's song was usually paced out and sedate. Meanwhile Talffyn's wild airs tended to switch quickly, bridging between melodies as they occurred to her but inevitably returning to her main point.  
_  
It'd damn well better be ready for one by the time Tar's ready. This isn't the Underdark. Song and sword, it'd damn well better be. _

Tarlaunim's legs were halfway unfolded, poised to fly forward. He noted his hands stiff and straight as blades, one of them partly raised, and gradually relaxed them even as he sank back to crossed legs.

Zayrtel had leaned back and lifted his bound hands before his face, eyes shut. He was shaking. It didn't take long to realize why.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." There was other sound from outside, but all he really heard was Pellanarra's song and the other's shuddering breaths. "I'm not going to hurt you. Not for _words_. We aren't like that."

Even without his holy symbol Zayrtel donned masks, and another one went up as his arms gradually lowered and his back straightened. This time Tarlaunim saw it clearly for what it was. "You're… sorry? _You're_ sorry? You didn't even raise a hand all the way and you're _sorry_?"

"Could you please explain?"

The shaking had shifted in its entirety to Zayrtel's hands, which he tried to hide behind the bend of his legs. The blanket had slipped off and lay piled around him. "Explain… explain what?"

"What makes you think I am a slave?"

"It's nothing. I… I…"

"Go on. What kind of priest would I be if I could not tolerate challenges to my faith?" At least they could give him some kind of an opening to reason his points, unlike false acquiescence. Tarlaunim knew that intellectually. He should know it deeper than that, and until quite recently he thought he had.

Zayrtel gaped. What Tarlaunim could see of his hands went still.

"Is there something behind me?"

"A priest, you said."

"Well, yes?" He fumbled briefly for his sword pendant and lifted it to dangle between them. "I said that before, didn't I?"

"No. You said 'of Eilistraee.'" Zayrtel focused on the pendant as if it were an enchanter's device. "That could mean priest. I used it in that sense, certainly. But it could mean simply 'this is the god I pray to.' In context…"

"What context?"

He grabbed at the blanket and began to pull it over himself once more. "I thought they didn't allow males. I've certainly never seen any, or heard a breath of them until this."

"I'm not surprised. There aren't very many of us yet, I don't think." _Females of any race are welcome_, he'd always heard. They'd never said _no males_.

"_Nightshadows_. How long has this been going on?"

"I was called three years ago. I can't say for any others."

"Huh." The wonderment was already fading - Tarlaunim couldn't expect his mission to be the work of an hour. He was disappointed regardless. "_Nothing_ goes to waste, does it. She hasn't got a lackey god to fob you off on, after all."

"Please," said Tarlaunim. "For the sake of this conversation, would you mind giving her the benefit of the doubt? Or at least considering the possibility of a purer motive than that. It would be untoward not to extend her the same courtesy she extends our race."

"What courtesy?"

"Well…" He sifted for words, arranged and rearranged. This line of conversation had carried him straight to a cliff edge; it was all he could do not to visibly squirm. Get the other to listen, he decided finally, and theology could be dealt with afterward. "Say if you might have made a mistake." Zayrtel was certainly listening now. "Acceptance - of the possibility. Acceptance meaning you can go on without it a stain on you. You may not be perfect, it says, but you have worth all the same. Like forgiveness. I suppose you could call it advance forgiveness."

"Mistakes." At first he thought he heard satisfaction at the admission that Eilistraee might have erred. No - that was what he'd _expected_ to hear in the word. When Tarlaunim actually considered the tone, satisfaction had no actual part whatsoever. In its place… "And what mistakes would those be that 'our race' made?"

In his mind Tarlaunim hopped on the cliff's edge with one leg extended over nothing.

"What mistakes did I make?" He frowned. His eyes shifted focus, his voice lowered. "Do you want to know?"

Tarlaunim nodded. One instinct directed him to lean closer. Another, the one he obeyed, warned him against it. Even if he had no divine magic Zayrtel could do a great deal of damage given the opportunity.

Zayrtel let out a laugh. "It wouldn't be simple as running for the trees and melting into the nearest shadow, would it? They'd be all around and prepared for something like that. I'm not inclined to play the target again so soon." He shrugged. "Believe it or not but I can say this. It's nothing that could do anything now, after all, nothing worth hiding anymore." His voice was distant, as though making his case to his god or himself at the same time he made it to Tarlaunim. Tarlaunim had the feeling of seeing through him, and being seen through in return. "Just about every one of us had a story like this. No need to swap them, or tell each other of our own god. But you're surface-born. You wouldn't know that, and you've a right to hear more than _their_ stories."

Talffyn's accounts weren't all from the priestesses, and there were quite a few contributed by males who'd come to Eilistraee, but Tarlaunim couldn't see any gain in bringing that up now.

"But you probably wouldn't know why that's so important either. So here's another reason for you. If you want any chance of convincing me that your goddess has some improvement, first - listen." He seemed about to leave it at that, then blurted, "Not that you _will_ convince me, mind you."

Tarlaunim had to smile at that before he hastily bit his lip. To his relief, Zayrtel reacted not with pique, but with another fit of laughter. This relief was tempered by the abrupt stop as Zayrtel grabbed at his side.

Tarlaunim started forward. "What was I thinking? You shouldn't be up so soon!"

Frantic motions, as if trying to push him away with the air. "I can lie _myself_ down." He proceeded to do just that - though it was more of a crash than a lie.

During his following exertions, Tarlaunim made several more attempts to assist only to be rebuffed with equal vehemence. He finally seemed to find a position with minimal aggravation of his injuries. Tarlaunim, after some shifting about of his own, discovered a half-sit that didn't have him loom over Zayrtel or else sprawl out beside him like a paramour. "You were saying?"

"I was saying…" He stared at the top of the tent. "You know _parzdiamo_ ?"

"I think so?" The explanation had been awkward, as were those for a great many drow words. "An… unofficial lover." "Lover" and "love" were also tricky, and for general use he substituted the surface elven. "Yes?"

"Yes. That was me. Everyone's _parzdiamo_. Good for a _vith_ and for play both, but then down there one tends to be part of the other."

Play - _jivvin_ - another of those words, implying a certain degree of cruelty. _Vith_, meanwhile, was straightforward but crude. Tarlaunim turned them about in his head, imagined how they fit together down there, and wished he hadn't.

"I presume you at least have enough of an idea of how the spider-kissers go about things to not have to be told all the details. Which is fine on me. So let me just say that one of the frequent visitors was fond of sharpened wire. She used to string it about after she was done with her _vith_ , say not to move, and take Reverie elsewhere." He lifted his hands and traced lines over his face, his shoulders, everything he could reach. "When she came back it was easy for her to tell if I'd forgotten myself. That happened quite a bit until I learned." Learned to stop moving even in trance and sleep? "Then she tired of me. Lucky I was never actually hers - she probably thought me too much trouble and expense to acquire just to cut my heart out."

Tarlaunim could almost feel metal against his own skin. He was as reluctant to move into it as if it had actually been conjured into being. "How long did that…?" Why did he ask when he didn't want to know?

"I don't remember exactly. Three years, maybe. Four." A lulled quality had entered his voice. "There was healing, of course, had to keep us in _some_ kind of shape, but it wasn't the best and sometimes _they _liked to leave the blood running for a while. For too long. Extra charge for that, but they could spare the coin. I prayed it wouldn't scar. That probably sounds petty to you."

"Not really," said Tarlaunim. "That was in the stories too. Had to do with warriors, mainly, but I expect they could be a danger for someone in… your position, especially if it was somewhere like your face."

Names were detached from his sister's collection. That was one of the conditions imposed before they would entrust her with them. For a tenday he'd tried guessing - who'd immolated her brother over an accident? Who'd ruined a rival student wizard by slicing out his tongue? Or who'd possibly _had_ his tongue cut out, and regenerated by the grace of Eilistraee? Talffyn, for once, held her own tongue on this, and when the tenday had passed he'd thanked her for it.

Zayrtel turned his head toward Tarlaunim and nodded, then returned to his conversation with the tent. "So I prayed to keep a pretty face. It wasn't to the Spider Bitch, I remember that much. I suppose I knew even then I'd have no help from her. I called to anyone who might answer."

"I'll aim at the dark and say Vhaeraun did."

"Exactly." Tarlaunim could see part of his sudden smile. "I'd hated the thought of staying there and being sucked hollow. For a while I thought what I wanted in its stead was some priestess to take me for her own, only when I thought about it I realized much the same thing would happen at the end. It's the same for most males, and nobody likes to think of it. Even the followers of the Spider Bitch's lackey would rather go down fighting than end sliced apart on an altar, and I didn't see myself on any battlefields.

"I tried to rationalize that it's the time in between that matters, pretend I'd be special and survive, convince myself not to be bothered… but the thought of how it would have to finish was always there. The Masked Lord showed me what lay beyond."

If only Eilistraee had been the one to show him. It seemed finding something improved had closed his mind to the possibility of something even better.

"It's not as though I think males are somehow better. Plenty of them came. They wanted proof that even though females treated them like boot-muck there was still _someone_ below them. They can rot. But the ones treated like boot-muck are mostly the ones looking."

If he didn't feel fine himself, Tarlaunim would have suspected something in the water. Fatigue could loosen the tongue - or, if Zayrtel thought escape was impossible as he'd claimed, it would be logical to try to change the particulars of the situation, and gaining sympathy from Tarlaunim - or even convincing him of the validity of his god's cause - would be a considerable help in that.

And it worked to some extent. Most drow of the Underdark, males especially, would have suffered in some way, but the telling of the particulars was no less effective. Perhaps with time Tarlaunim would not be so deeply disturbed, but at present he felt nearly the same queasiness as Zayrtel showed at the thought of wire and touch.

"It is Vhaeraun's command that we aid and avenge," Zayrtel continued. "It is his desire to do away with the Spider Bitch's mad rule. He helped me, his priests helped me, and now I pay him back. How is that a mistake? You tell me that."

Tarlaunim waited a breath, tracing back along the line of conversation to the prior mentions of mistakes before he replied. "Our faith - my faith - has no objection to what you describe. What you don't describe is the problem. The idea of running roughshod over the surface lands, and ill-treating females in revenge for what you -"

"No. That's not how it is at all. Females are no better than males, true - that does not mean they are inferior. Is it our fault they tend to be loath to give up divine favoritism?" No mention or defense, Tarlaunim noted, of the Masked Lord's designs on the surface. "I escaped that. You ask me to walk back into it."

"I'm sorry you think we're like that."

"There you go again. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry.' Whatever did you do?"

"You've said it as well."

"But I'd done _something_ that would mean saying it. You?"

"It's an expression." From what was visible of Zayrtel's face, he disbelieved this. It could be he took it as some proof of his view, that Tarlaunim continued to apologize for things that weren't his doing. "We, too, advocate equality."

"Hence why for years I would've had more luck finding an orc mage than one of your ilk?"

"I'm here now, aren't I?"

"Fair enough for _now_. Ought I disregard before?"

"I'm still a novice yet. I wouldn't presume to know the will of the Dark Maiden. What I do know is that while there may be a… skew in her clergy, there's no mistreatment based on that as there is in the Underdark. It's not a foremost goal, I admit. But just because there are not so many of us as priests yet doesn't mean we're considered inferior, any more than your god considers females inferior."

"And your foremost goal? What's considered more important?"

"Peace on the surface. A return to what our race was before we were separated from the other elves."

"Why bother?"

"Pardon?"

"Working off whatever debt the drow of thousands of years ago might have incurred, to prove your worth to those who would rather see you dead and have done with it. Why bother trying to imitate _them_?"

"It's an effective model for a society free of the practices of the Underdark - and it makes more sense than looking to, say, halflings or humans… Silverymoon is pleasant enough, but I understand it's an oddity." Even in that oddity the followers of the Dark Maiden were an oddity, hidden beneath cloaks and veils and gloves and illusions, and Tarlaunim himself was another oddity inside of that.

"We did well enough looking to ourselves and cutting away what didn't fit. And somehow I doubt your lot is rid of all of that, either." It didn't take a divination to infer his meaning.

Three years ago Dilynrae's eyes were so wide that Tarlaunim had checked for snakes, then put a hand to his face to try to wipe off whatever oddment might have found its way there. _I knew someone like you. _She'd fingered his pendant. _He didn't last a year out of training. They were all - I was -_

_It's not the same thing._ Pellanarra steered her away by the shoulder while giving Tarlaunim an apologetic look. _It's not and thank the Dark Maiden for that_.

"So you're not enslaved," Zayrtel continued, "only marginalized. I _see_. I believe you when you say they don't abuse you as the spider-kissers would, but that doesn't mean there's not a better way."

Tarlaunim could have said much the same. "I see why you'd have misgivings. But we have progressed in other aspects - and once you learn about them, you may find they compensate for this one apparent impediment. Besides," and he displayed his holy symbol once more, "whatever restrictions were in place once, here I am now. There must be a beginning somewhere, and perhaps you will be part of it if you wish."

"Quite a sizable 'if.'"

"Of course. It's my task to reduce it."

"Of course."

Outside, Pellanarra's song wound down. Laughter mingled with what was probably Talffyn's voice as she wandered the camp, encouraging morale.

"I don't believe my words alone can do our way justice," said Tarlaunim. "Tomorrow night maybe you'll be well enough so I can show you about." He could see Zayrtel wince. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" It would seem at least a way to garner more information - but that was the problem, wasn't it? Once he'd seen the layout of the camp there was even less chance of release out of what little he'd had to start with. "There'll be measures. You needn't fear about that."

"I'm not afraid." It was the greatest, most apparent lie he'd told so far.

"In the meantime," Tarlaunim sidestepped, "what else can I do for you?"

Zayrtel brought his hands to his forehead, shutting his eyes. "Besides the obvious? Could you just go away?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Damn. Could you stop talking, then? I doubt I'll be able to listen properly for much longer anyway."

Tarlaunim nodded. "Yes, more rest couldn't hurt. Tell me if you need anything?"

The only action that could be remotely construed as a response was Zayrtel's eyes shutting tighter.

Tarlaunim counted ten breaths before he stood, picking up the tray en route. The tray went to another corner of the tent, where it was unlikely to be tripped over or rolled over on. He counted fifteen more. "I'm sorry?"

An incoherent groan.

"Do you mind if I take evensong in here?" It wasn't evening and he wasn't alone but he couldn't see the point right now in calling for someone to switch, and already the gathered feeling was beginning to churn about in the area of his throat.

"Take it until… forest creatures complain… for all I care."

"Thank you. And another thing."

"What?" There wasn't quite as much exasperation as he was worried he'd hear.

He knelt again, reminding himself not to reach out. Another three breaths passed before Tarlaunim felt confidence in his articulation. "I know we disagree, and I couldn't have expected anything else. I just want to say that - well, I don't truly understand. How could I? I don't think I even want to, because that would mean _knowing_ all those things… But you've plenty of reason and plenty of right to be skeptical. I think I understand that at least." One breath, stretched. "I just hope we give you enough reason to change your mind."

Admittedly, he also hoped he hadn't given this speech to someone who'd dropped off at some point or otherwise become incapable of understanding.

… or to someone who'd been lying through his teeth all the while and was now shrieking with inward hysterics at how very gullible the followers of Eilistraee could be.

Zayrtel's murmur halted the rapid dive of his thoughts.

"You're not like the hands-over-ears spider-kissers, are you? At least you don't speak like you are. Even if the tools come out tomorrow…" Tarlaunim grimaced when he realized what tools those would be. "It's been an interesting talk…"

Tarlaunim marked off twenty this time; during this Zayrtel was uncannily still as he'd been not an hour ago. He hummed for another few breaths, running through the basic scales before settling on a starting melody. Then he opened his mouth and translated into the following song both the questions passed along to him and those drawn from himself.

The Dark Maiden was not the Spider Queen. He knew he would have some answer.

END

* * *

CANONICAL NOTES: (Updated November 5, 2006) In second edition Eilistraee was unique among her family in that she allowed no male clergy whatsoever. For a long time, there was no new word on gender restrictions, although the Sword Dancer class was female-only. There was brief mention of a male cleric, but this tended to be explained as a typo or the like. For the purpose of the story back in July and August, I went with the theory that there was an actual change - set up a bit of symmetry with Lolth that way. Then Ed Greenwood announced he'd be giving his opinion on the topic shortly, and I got ready to slap an "especially non-canonical" note on this one. 

Well, it's out, readable on Candlekeep, and male priests of Eilistraee are definitely in the picture. Cue dancing around the computer room in jubilation. What a birthday present!

Overall, I think "The Dark Maiden's Message" meshed a lot better than I hoped, and far as I can see there aren't any gaping plot holes that need immediate patching. There will likely be some eventual revision to take note of the new associated Realmslore, i.e. the Changedance (Oh, _that_ should be fun). I wouldn't hold my breath for it, though.

Also according to Ed Greenwood, there are apparently some sixty drow in hiding in Silverymoon, and more in the general area.

* * *

This story was largely inspired by the War of the Spider Queen series and the Starlight and Shadows trilogy (particularly _Windwalker_, which was also where I got the word _parzdiamo_ - though the way it's used is pretty much my own), and forum debates on Eilistraee's clergy - and a small bit from the Night Masks blurb in _Lords of Darkness_ . Please don't blame the writers - they couldn't have known how I'd abuse their work.

For Zayrtel Telenna (and most of the cast of "The Masked Lord's Embrace") I also have to credit the excellent authors of priests of Vhaeraun that I've come across. Same plea as above applies to them.

Finally, a thank you to reviewers past and (hopefully) future.


End file.
